A German Pompadour. Hon. Marie Hay
the tables; they stared rudely as the lady entered, and whispered remarks about her, grinning broadly the while. She glanced haughtily at them and called to the innkeeper, who had followed her from the courtyard, desiring him to bring her food and wine. He went slowly to a painted wooden cupboard, which stood against the wall at the back of the room, and returned with a lump of coarse bread and some raw ham which he set down on the dirty table. Taking an earthenware jug from before the group of peasants, he brought it to add to the lady's unappetising meal. 'Good wine last year here,' he said. 'Then, at least, something is good, Herr Wirth, in your inn!' she answered; 'but tell me,' she continued, with a smile which almost charmed even the boorish innkeeper, 'how far is it to Stuttgart, and what is the name of this village?' 'Village? Lady, it is a township, and much older than Stuttgart! It is Cannstatt, where the Romans have left a camp, but Stuttgart is the finer because the Duke's court is there. You have travelled far?' he added, his curiosity getting the better of the unfriendly distrust with which the Wirtemberger regards all strangers. 'From the far north,' she answered shortly. 'You have never been in our country before?' he asked; 'well, you have an ill-omened day for your arrival; the storm greeted you!' The lady started. 'Thank you for reminding me,' she said, 'I dislike ill omens.' The man grinned: it delighted his honest soul to have succeeded in annoying a foreigner. 'You will reach Stuttgart to-night, for it is only half a league from here. Is Stuttgart your destination?' he asked. 'Perhaps,' she answered, and turned away; the man's curiosity was, evidently, little to her taste. However, another thought seemed to come to her, for she turned again towards him, and, with a smile of infinite sweetness, began to question him on the country, the people, and the court. At first he answered shortly enough, but the lady fixed her eyes upon him. Gradually he felt (he told the tale often in later days) a sort of dream-feeling creep over him, and he replied to all her questions fully, telling her everything he knew of the country gossip: how the Duke was heartily weary of his wife, Duchess Johanna Elizabetha; how she was eternally jealous of him; of how a Frau von Geyling held the Duke enthralled; that the Erbprinz was a sickly child of nine years old, who men said could not be long for this world. He told her of the people's hatred of a Herr von Stafforth, a foreigner, who had become very mighty in Stuttgart; in fact he gossiped freely, and perhaps, in his half-hour's talk, let her discover more of the people's thoughts, and the dangerously discontented state of the country, than was known to the ministers of Wirtemberg. At length the lady rose and requested him to see if the storm had sufficiently abated for the coach to continue its journey. The man went out rubbing his eyes; he felt as if he had been half asleep.
The storm was over, and only the rain fell quietly as the coach rumbled out of Cannstatt and across the bridge over the Neckar. The lady leaned back against the wooden side of the diligence and closed her eyes. She reflected that she must be near Stuttgart, and she wondered what her destiny would be in the town which she was nearing in the darkness. Gradually the monotonous creaking and the jolting of the heavy vehicle made her drowsy, also she felt the warmth of the potent Wirtemberg wine glow through her tired limbs. The coach passed through the outskirts of Stuttgart, but Wilhelmine von Grävenitz, for it was she, slept and did not see the outlying houses of that town, where Fate willed she should play so important a part.
Wilhelmine had tarried in Berlin with her sister, Frau Sittmann, and the days of her visit had lengthened to weeks ere she had resumed her journey southwards, for she had been sick unto death with smallpox. When she recovered she had almost found it in her heart to return to Güstrow and hide her ravaged beauty; but in reality the fell disease had been very merciful, and though Wilhelmine's skin was slightly pock-marked, the bloom and colour of her magnificent health and forceful youth rendered the marks inoffensive. Thus, though long delayed, she had at last continued her adventurous quest.
The coach lumbered on, and Wilhelmine woke with a start as a more than usually violent jolt flung her against the door. She peered out into the darkness but could see nothing, for the night was absolutely starless. The road was so steep that at moments the heavy carriage threatened to run backwards down the hill, in spite of the straining of the wretched horses that struggled onwards, slipping and floundering on the dripping road. At the top of the hill the driver pulled up to breathe the poor beasts; he came round to the back of the coach and called to Wilhelmine that if she leaned out of the window she would see the lights of the town of Stuttgart beneath her in the valley. She looked out, and far down she saw lights glittering through the night. There were only a few visible, for the windows of most of the houses were probably curtained to shut out the wet night. Wilhelmine drew back into the diligence with a sense of disappointment. She had dreamed of a splendid city, and this seemed like a village.
She slept again, and it was the morning sun shining on her face which roused her. She looked out of the window once more, and this time a smiling landscape met her eye. The route ran between green fields, and on each side of the road were huge, gnarled apple and pear trees, which spring had crowned with a glory of snowy blossom. In the near distance rose rounded, fir-clad hills, here and there the sombre colour broken by the delicate verdure of young beech leaves. A delicious morning air kissed Wilhelmine's cheeks and lips as she leaned out of the window, wafting to her the faint, sweet breath of the fruit blossom mixed with the smell of the wet fields and woods. 'What a glorious country!' she said aloud, and she called to the driver to stop and let her rest her aching limbs in a few minutes' walk. The man opened the door and bade her 'Grüss Gott, Fräulein,' and even the surly tone in which the words were uttered could not spoil the beauty of the friendly South German greeting. 'All the fields and the woods say "Grüss Gott" to-day, I think!' she returned. The heavy Swabian peasant stared at her. 'What ridiculous things these foreigners say!' was written so clearly in his face, that Wilhelmine laughed outright.
'Where do we change horses next?' she queried. He told her at Tübingen in an hour's time, and that they would reach her destination, Rottenburg, about twelve of the clock. When they rattled in to the old town of Tübingen the driver informed her that they made an hour's halt there. 'Unless indeed,' he added, 'you choose to travel to Rottenburg by special post-chaise, at a cost of twelve gulden.'
But Wilhelmine had few gulden to spare, and she decided to wander about the town until the ordinary diligence started for Rottenburg. She climbed the steep road to the ancient castle. The moat was filled with flowers and shrubs. It surprised her to see this peaceful garrison of the fortifications of a stronghold so soon after the invasion of Wirtemberg by the troops of Louis xiv. She questioned a peasant who was loitering near the drawbridge. He laughed at her, and endeavoured to be witty at her expense, after the agreeable manner of the Swabian, who thinks himself entitled to poke clumsy fun at any questioner. He condescended, however, to inform her that in fertile Wirtemberg flowers and all growing things find a home each spring in any and every nook and cranny, careless that their forbears of a twelvemonth have been uprooted.
'A beautiful land,' she murmured, 'peopled by boors!' She turned away from her discourteous informant and contemplated the grey walls of the castle, so strong and grim, yet dressed with the gracious flowers of a lavish spring. As she stood admiring the wonderful Renaissance gateway, one side of the huge door was pushed open and a young man in student's dress emerged. His face, though sickly and emaciated, interested her by reason of its vivid intelligence and a certain mocking look of eye and lip.
'Sir,' said Wilhelmine, as the youth approached over the drawbridge, 'could I see the castle, do you think? I am a stranger and have an hour to pass in Tübingen, and I would fain wile away the time of my stay here.' He told her she was at liberty to wander through the courtyard; he need but request the doorkeeper to admit her. 'I am a student in this university,' he explained, 'for though this castle is in reality a royal residence, the students occupy one side of the quadrangle; and, in truth, his Highness Eberhard Ludwig seldom visits his fortress of Tübingen.' She thanked him for his courtesy and would have passed on alone, but the student followed her through the peaceful courtyard, proudly pointing out to her the fine workmanship of the fountain. Then he made her peep through the windows of the library, which filled one side of the building. There she saw black-robed students poring over the books. 'Melanchthon lectured there,' he said; 'Erasmus was here, and the learned Dr. Faustus of Maulbronn came and studied here, so legend says.'
He took her up the moss-grown steps at the end of the courtyard, and out on to the rampart. A view of infinite beauty lay before her: a vast expanse of green fields through which the river